


(Don't) Keep Your Head Down

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [24]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, CSI Nilfgaard, Gen, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rosemary and Thyme | Chameleon (The Witcher), The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Dandelion inherited a brothel?Keep your head downTry to avoid being noticed or getting involved in something
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Priscilla
Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041
Comments: 29
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the longest parts of the series yet, but luckily for you, I've been cooped up at home all weekend and it's basically done. And since a lot of it comes from the game, I've saved a lot of time by copy and pasting (but don't think I haven't changed a lot, because as I said last chapter, from here on out things get weird).

Geralt still didn’t like oneiromancers. He had to admit, this one - Corinne Tilly, a friend of Triss’ - had been useful and had helped him get closer to Ciri, but having someone playing in his head still made him feel ill. The last vision she’s shown him, of Dandelion being chased by a swallow, made his mouth dry.

“The swallow signifies Ciri,” he said softly, pushing himself to his feet.“She must have contacted Dandelion. I didn’t know he was in town.”

“The poet?” Corinne looked up at him. “Heard about him. Someone left him the Rosemary and Thyme in their will.”

“The Rosemary and Thyme?” asked Geralt. “Where’s that?”

“As you enter the city through the red light district, you come upon a bridge. The Rosemary is just past it.”

It took a moment for the Witcher to understand what he’d been told. “Dandelion inherited a brothel?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I know how much you guys love CSI Nilfgaard…… Let's explore Dandelion's brothel a bit.

“And never come back ye stinkin’ scads!”

“Alls we wanted was-”

“Don’t give a flying fuck what ye wanted! Get!”

Geralt frowned at the shouting coming from inside. It was clearly Zoltan, Dandelion’s dwarf friend, but the others seemed to be vagrants. He didn’t hear the poet. Stepping up to the door, he had just a moment to jump back when it flew open and three men tumbled out.

“Next time I’ll rip your fucking legs off and shove ‘em up your arses till you’ve toes for teeth!” shouted Zoltan. Then he slammed the door without seeing Geralt.

The witcher gave Zoltan a moment to get away from the door - so he wouldn’t be tempted to attack anyone who entered - and then stepped inside.

“Geeeralt! In the nick of time! As always!”

“Zoltan,” greeted the Witcher with a grin. “With your boot to someone’s ass. As always. You look good.”

“Training plenty lately. With the war on, there’s no Makahamam mead to be found, but Redanian’s Lager’s standing in just fine. You though, you’ve withered a bit. Something worryin’ ya?”

Geralt sighed. “Got some problems. Rather not burden you.”

Zoltan laughed. “Fuck off, Geralt. Need to spill your guts to me, now.”

He thought for a moment, then decided that he trusted Zoltan completely. “I’m looking for Ciri. I know she came to Novigrad. Might still be here.”

“You mean… she’s come back?” Zoltan’s eyes widened. “I’ll be damned. I wonder if I’d recognize her. How many years has it been? Six? Seven? But what’d she be doin’ here?”

“Hiding probably,” said Geralt. “She might be in danger.”

“Ohhh. Not good.”

“Not at all.” He paused, then added, “But I know she came here and contacted Dandelion.”

The dwarf scratched the back of his head. “We’ve a wee problem then…..”

Of course they did. Geralt closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Where’s Dandelion?”

“Hah! Like to know meself. Maybe he could explain what the hell’s going on! I barely just returned, as you saw. Expectin’ to come home to a hot leg o’ boar and some cold ale.”

“Really?” Geralt interrupted with a snort. He couldn’t picture either Zoltan or Dandelion cooking. Well, he did actually know how Dandelion’s cooking tasted, which was why he preferred when the poet stuck to making tea.

“What do I find instead?” continued Zoltan, apparently not having heard Geralt. “A shitstorm. Dandelion gone. The tavern chock full ‘o bums. Haven’t a clue what happened.”

“Hmm. We should look around,” said Geralt. “He might have left something that will point us after him.”

He glanced across the room, walking over to the bar with growing dread. Perhaps he’d been drunk, wandered off… it was plausible enough. But to his relief there were no open bottles, instead he was rather impressed by the organization, each one where it belonged. “From the finest vineyards, every last one.”

“No one knows the fruit of the fruit of the vine like Dandelion.”

Geralt hated that he had to agree.

“Ah-hah!” Zoltan’s delighted cry made Geralt turn sharply, hoping the dwarf had found something. “A note from a grateful muse!” sniggered the dwarf.

_Figures_ , thought Geralt. “Reading someone else’s letters? Tsk tsk.”

“ _My visage red and hot… I plunged into purest ecstasy, imbibing it’s nectar… your dexterous digits on my soul’s yearning chords._ ”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Stepping through the tavern he allowed himself to focus. Dandelion’s scent seemed to permeate the place, but there was one spot where it was strongest. He followed his nose to a pile of pillows, with a curtain canopied over them. To a passerby, it probably appeared that Dandelion had decided to make his own version of an elegant canopy, but Geralt knew better. _Idiot says he doesn’t nest_ , thought the Witcher with a snort, kneeling down and peering into the mess. His blood ran cold. “This is his lute.”

“Must’ve been in a great rush to leave it behind,” remarked the dwarf.

Geralt’s stomach knotted. He’d expected Dandelion to be off with a girlfriend… but if he’d left his lute, it had to be more than that.

Beside his lute was a stack of papers, at first glance, it just seemed to be more hurried scribbling, but underneath it Geralt found a formal looking paper. “The faculty of Oxenfurt University,” he read aloud, “is honored to grant Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, the Title of Master of the Seven Liberal Arts.”

Zoltan laughed. “Keep forgettin’ he’s got that damned fool name.” The dwarf considered, then asked, “Think he’s off visitin’ them? His family, I mean.”

“No,” Geralt said. Beside the diploma, hanging over the pile of pillows that was certainly not a nest, was a silver plaque. “Annual Balladry Contest. Silver Laurel. Awarded to Master Dandelion.”

“Prince Hereward himself did the honors.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Don’t be. It was boring load of shite. Now, the feast afterwards! Dandelion taught a swine to yodel and - oh, another time….”

But Geralt’s favorite part of the not-nest was the painting, leaned against the wall. It appeared to depict Dandelion slaying a wyvern, but the whole thing was too absurd. “Nose is too small,” said the Witcher with a laugh. He was going to have to insist the poet hang it on the wall where he could see it every time he visited.

“Aye,” agreed Zoltan, stomping up beside him. “And the sword’s too big!”

Geralt had to agree with that assessment.

“Bye the bye, is that how it’s done? Killing a Wyvern?”

“Hmmm. Technique’s not quite right, but you gotta admit, he’s doing it with gusto.”

One last glance at Dandelion’s pillow fort made him pause. Picking up a journal, Geralt flipped it open, half expecting to find lewd sketches of women. Instead, it seemed to be a ledger. “Hmmm. Ten barrels of Toussaint dry, ten cases of Sodden triple mead… Hmm. Nothing here.”

But Zoltan was excited. “No! No! No! That’s exactly what we’re looking for!”

Geralt looked up in disbelief as the dwarf trotted toward him. “It’s his planner!” explained Zoltan.

With a snort, Geralt said, “Dandelion and planning? Good one. Besides, anything he wrote here probably had a special system - something only he could actually decipher. Actually, in the past, not always that.”

“Give him a chance! Might not be that bad.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. More than once he had been woken in the middle of the night by a distraught Dandelion who realized he couldn’t understand his own notes on one of Geralt’s contracts and needed the Witcher to recount it for him again. Although, come to think of it, it was possible the bard just enjoyed being told stories when he couldn’t sleep.

Realizing Geralt had no interest in perusing the book, Zoltan ripped it from his hands. “Seems when he inherited the brothel it came with some fine responsibilities- bookkeepin’ among them. He also made a habit of notin’ down the times of his meetings-”

“Otherwise he’d forget,” supplied Geralt.

“Official and private,” continued Zoltan.

“Well,” said Geralt. “Wouldn’t want two of his lovers to meet up by accident.”

“Who’d he been seeing of late?” The dwarf ran his finger down the rows of writing. “Ah! Here it is! Hmm… seems he’s only been seeing women of late, the dog.”

Geralt almost asked why that surprised Zoltan. After all, Dandelion had, from their first sexual encounter, been very clear about his own preferences.

“Zoltan please. You really want to track down the women Dandelion’s been wooing? Most of them probably very angry women by now?”

“Got any better ideas? ‘Sides, Dandelion’s a babbler. They’re sure to know somethin’ of his doings.” Zoltan considered. “Hmm. We should divide these somehow… Perhaps…. ah, fuck it.” He ripped one page out and kept it for himself, then handed the book back to Geralt. “I’ll ask the lassies on my half, you interrogate the ones on yours. Suit you?”

Geralt looked back down at the book. “Zoltan wait, this is in verse.”

The dwarf paused at the door. “And you figure that’s unnatural because….?”

“Wonderful.” Geralt shook his head. “We’ll meet back here when we’re done. Share our findings.”

Looking down at the planner, his eyes were drawn to one name in particular. He groaned.

> _Vespula_
> 
> _Though timid in looks, no adventure did skip her._
> 
> _My heart melts when she asks, "Ever had a Big Dipper?"_
> 
> _~ Farcorners, laundry near the mouth of the Pontar_

“He’s been seeing Vespula?” Geralt asked aloud in disbelief. “Gods damn it, Dandelion. You know she threw his knickers out the window, once?”

“That’s her,” confirmed Zoltan.

“Hollered something about him being a scoundrel with a voice like a consumptive pheasant, threw flower pots at him, then attempted to murder him with a frying pan. Would’ve killed him, if not for the fact that she hit a doppler disguised as Dandelion instead.” He paused, then belatedly added, “The doppler’s fine, by the way.”

“Guess old flames never die,” said Zoltan with a chuckle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt Voice: Yes my best friend is Very Straight(TM). He's the straightest man alive, that's why he fawns after me.
> 
> Also yourself a favor and watch the scene this is based on. There’s a lot I left out, including an excellent 50 Shades of Grey reference https://youtu.be/3rgtrW5-AJw


	3. Chapter 3

All Dandelion’s love interests had come up worthless, all except one.

Geralt stood in the back of the room, watching as Priscilla performed. _Dandelion_ , he thought, _where in all the hells did you find Essi Daven’s doppleganger?_

He knew it couldn’t be Essi, she had died years ago, in Dandelion’s arms as the story went, but the woman on the stage seemed to be a spitting image of her.

When he was finally able to talk to Priscilla, she led him upstairs, saying they couldn’t talk in public.

“There a reason for all this sneaking around?” he asked, once they were hidden in Priscilla’s room.

“An excellent one,” said Priscilla. “When I last saw Dandelion, he was planning a heist. Sigi Reuven’s Vault.” She sighed. “And I’ve not seen him since.”

“Reuven?” Geralt asked sharply. “Who’s that?”

“Tall, fat, and dangerous as hell,” supplied Zoltan.

“Limp in his gait,” said Priscilla. “Left leg.”

“Sounds like a lame rock troll.”

“If trolls were devilishly intelligent and had a flare for crime, yeah, I’d agree.”

Geralt couldn’t help but feel uneasy over the entire thing. “Dandelion, breaking into a vault? I’d sooner expect him to choose a life of celibacy.” 

Judging by Priscilla’s continued explanations, where she highlighted exactly Dandelion had apparently pissed off all the major crime bosses in the city just before his disappearance, the poet had been quite busy. He had no debts as far as any of them knew, which left the question of why he’d been breaking into Reuven’s faults.

 _It had to be something to do with Ciri_ , Geralt thought. _But I don’t see her agreeing to a heist if it wasn’t important_.

“The rascal!” snickered Zoltan. “At least he dinnae cross the Church as well, bringing that venerable institution into it.”

 _Small miracle, given their stance on Omegas_. He’d seen their propaganda about town, hanging in every place they could put it up. They thought about as highly of Omegas as Dandelion did. He’d also seen an Omega burned alongside a sorceress, although he wasn’t entirely certain of the girl’s crime. 

“Here I go again,” the Witcher grumbled, “rushing to Dandelion’s rescue…. He outta pay me a salary.”

Prisillca was unamused. “Wherever he is, I doubt he’s in the mood for jokes.”

“You don’t know Dandelion, then,” countered Geralt.

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I’m not.”

“Relax, I’ll get him out of this,” the Witcher promised. “Gotta talk to his new ‘friends’ first- any idea where I can find them?”

“Don’t know about Whoreson,” said Zoltan, “but Reuven runs a bathhouse. Careful, he’s a dangerous character.”

“So am I,” said Geralt.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Priscilla. “But Dandelion’s isn’t. I beg you to hurry, and let me know as soon as you’ve found anything.”

“Of course.” He turned toward the door, Zoltan muttering about returning to the Tavern to watch for Dandelion, in case he returned on his own, but then the Witcher paused.

“One more thing,” Geralt said.

“Sure,” said Priscilla

“The name Essi Daven mean anything to you?”

“No, sorry. Think Dandelion might be with her?”

“I hope not.”


	4. Chapter 4

Reuven’s bathhouse, it seemed, was closed for business.

Geralt quite frankly didn’t give a fuck, banging his fist on the door. “Anybody there? Open up!”

“What’s the fuss?" came an annoyed voice from the otherside of the door. "The bathhouse is closed.”

“I need to talk to the owner, I know he’s here.”

“I’m not sure that matters, as he’s terribly busy.”

“Busy?” snapped Geralt. “With what?”

“Entertaining important guests.”

“In that case, tell him there’s another one at the door. Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaviken. And I’m not leaving until I get an audience.”

The man giggled. “Very well. I shall try.”

Within a few minutes, he had returned, but this time, he opened the door and bowed to Geralt. “Sigi Reuven cordially invites you to join him. I’m Happen.”

Geralt’s stomach knotted with disgust. Happen was clearly an Omega, as denoted by the collar on his neck. _Hope Dandelion never came here_ , he thought. He followed after him slowly.

“The meeting is in the baths. We shall pass through the dressing room, so that you may leave you clothes.”

Geralt almost asked if there were Omegas in there, because if there were, he needed to leave before he started a bloodbath. _No, focus on Dandelion. Come back for them later. If they exist_.

He changed out of his clothes, stripping to just a towel, and - despite it going against his every instinct - left his weapons behind. As he stepped into the baths, a women called out, “Hey white hair! Nice bum.”

 _Whores_ , he thought, glancing over the room. _No Omegas though, other than Happen. Good. I just hope they're paid to be here_. 

Happen led him past rows of baths, mostly filled with whores entertaining guests, but at the far end was a private bath, closed off with lattice. It was there that Happen stopped. Inside, Geralt could see a fat man (“Reuven,” apparently, although Geralt quickly realized that wasn’t his real name), a thin man, and a dwarf.

“Why the fuck did you let him in here?” snarled dwarf man as Geralt strode toward them.

“Because I want to talk to him,” said ‘Reuven,’ giving Geralt a nod.

“This is Geralt of Rivia,” said the thin one. Upon closer inspection, Geralt recognized him as Francis Bedlam, the man otherwise known as the King of Beggars. He wanted to dislike him on principal, but he'd helped him find Triss only a day previously. “Good to see you again.”

“As always I’m out of the swivin’ loop!" snarled the dwarf. "Who the fuck are ya?”

“Think I’ll let ‘ _Reuven_ ’ introduce me. He’s the master of names, after all.”

“He’s a Witcher,” said ‘Reuven,’ leaning on the edge of the pool. “The very one who first foiled an attempt on Folest’s life and then killed that very monarch.”

“Allegedly,” said Geralt. “But as your favorite spying poet no doubt told you, I didn’t kill Foltest.” He clasped his hands together and smiled. “How’s your ankle, _Dijkstra_?”

That was when the assassins arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

Once the hubbub had died down and the assassins had been killed, Geralt found himself with the dwarf’s knife pointed at his throat. “Who pranced right in right before the attack?” he demanded. “Coincidence? I think not!”

“Let’s give him a chance to explain,” said Dijkstra.

“I’m looking for Whoreson junior,” he said.

“What do you want with him?” demanded the dwarf, who Dijkstra had introduced as Cleaver.

“It’s personal,” snapped Geralt.

Dijkstra laughed. “Geralt takes his privacy very seriously,” he said. “Spyin’ on him, havin’ him followed, was a bloody nightmare.”

“That’s what happens when your spies aren’t as loyal as you think.” The jab was perhaps ill timed, but the look on Dijkstra’s face made it well worth it. 

“Still,” said Bedlam. “He was lots more trusting when he was looking for Merigold.”

“Must be looking for someone more important,” said Dijkstra smugly.

“Gentlemen, are you out of your fucking minds?” demanded Cleaver. “A chat session? Whoreson’s out to get us, and he’ll succeed, eventually. We’ve got to kill him first.” He stomped away. “By all means, you sit here, fart and soak. Let the bubbles rise while I send my men to Whoreson’s hideyholes.” He pointed at Geralt. “And you - Geriatric, or whatever your name is - you want Whoreson, you find me first.”

Francis Bedlam left as well, following behind Cleaver with promises to get even on Whoreson. That left Geralt and Dijkstra alone.

“How about we get dressed?” asked Geralt.

“Sure, sure. Then we’ll talk. In private.”

* * *

“Right mess that was,” complained Dijkstra once they were holed up in his office. “Never thought I’d be glad to see the man who was responsible for my taking regular baths.”

Geralt shrugged. “If you’re any cleaner for it, gotta say it was worth breaking your ankle.”

“It healed poorly - can you believe it?” complained Dijkstra. “I must soak it in hot water at least six times a day. Failing that, it bloody pounds like the bells of Beauclair at dawn.”

Geralt had several things he’d like to say, but remembering why he was there, he instead opted to remain polite. “Sorry to hear that.”

“You’re sorry?" Dijkstra raised an eyebrow. "Well, consider it resolved then. Now, mind showing compassion? Could mean a miraculous recovery for me.”

“Listen Reuven- No Dijkstra-" Geralt shook his head, pulling a face. "Just not in the mood for your codenames, passwords, and other bullshit. I’m here on specific business. If you wanna listen, listen, if not- I’d rather you spared me your wit and threw me out now.”

“Ah. What’s the harm? Talk.”

He thought for a moment, then decided that he might as well ask, “Am I still being tailed?”

“No,” said Dijkstra. Geralt raised an eyebrow. “The only one who was ever any good at keeping up with you, was Dandelion and- well-”

“He’s in Novigrad,” Geralt pointed out. A part of him hoped that Dijkstra would slip up, reveal something, admit that he knew Dandelion was missing.

But Dijkstra only shrugged. “I tried to visit him, but his dwarf friend threw me out. Besides, I’m not in the spying game anymore.”

Geralt snorted. “From master spy to master criminal. Interesting progression.”

“Why?" Dijkstra asked. "Truth to be told they’re awfully similar. Both about maintaining a net of informers, being tough in negotiations, bribing officials…. The occasional assassination. Same old shit.”

“Yeah, except you used to do all that in the name of some ideal." Geralt waved his hands. Dandelion had waxed about it, something about loyalty to his country being why he'd chosen to spy for Dijkstra to begin with (and the payment, of course). The blackmail had come later. "And now?”

“Now I’ve decided I’ve slaved enough for ideals. Its time I worked for myself. And it’s finally paying off.”

“Listen-“ Geralt growled, finally decided he’d beaten around the bush enough. It was dangerous to tell Dijkstra too much…. But what choice did he have? “Dandelion’s missing. Any idea what might have happened to him?”

“Same thing that happens to anyone who steps on Junior’s toes.”

The Witcher paused. “Meaning?”

“He’s surrounded by splendid virgins who ply him with sparkling wine and pastries stuffed with nightingales’ tongues." Dijkstra laughed. 

Geralt grit his teeth.

“Come, Geralt,” said Dijkstra with a shake of his head. “What do you think’s happened to him? I reckon he’s at the bottom of the Pontar, trussed up with the strings of his own mandolin.”

“Lute," snapped the Witcher.

“Far as I’m concerned, he might as well be rotting down there with a goddamn trombone.” Dijkstra waved his arms. “And that’s if he’s lucky. You know and I both know what he is, Geralt. If you think he might still be alive, look in the flesh markets.”

The Witcher closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beef to pick with Dandelion, would you?”

Dijsktra was surprisingly blunt. “Course I do.”

“You serious?” More than anything, he was surprised that the man admitted it.

“Dead serious…. Dandelion published a new sonnet recently," explained the former spy.

_Of course_ , thought Geralt. _He probably wrote something offensive about Dijkstra. Why should that surprise me?_

Dijkstra continued, "Second Stanza- the shit uses paired couplets instead of an inserted rhyme! Surely you understand how deeply offended the poetry lover in me was. The bastard shan’t get away with it!”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, something that would have terrified lesser men. “I was being serious.”

“As am I when I say I have exactly no time to worry about your gigolo boyfriend. Got my own problems.” Dijkstra frowned, then, as though the idea had just come to him (Geralt was certain it hadn’t), he said, “Problems you might be able to help me with. And if you did, why, then I might be inclined to ask after Dandelion, inquire as to what’s happened to him…”

Of course. “What do you need?”

“I’d rather show than tell. A picture’s worth a thousand words and all that tripe. And you do realize if you say anything about what you see here to anyone, it’ll mean a razor straight to your throat?”

“Figured as much.”

“Excellent. One last request- let’s call it a command. Don’t draw your sword unless I ask you to.”

* * *

The last thing he expected, was for Dijkstra to have a troll under his bathhouse.

“Bart!” snarled the spy as the troll slammed it’s head against the wall. “Stop that, now!”

Geralt had wanted to get into the basement, to see if there was any sign of Dandelion, but he couldn’t complain about getting to watch Dijkstra argue with a rock roll that seemed to have the same mental aptitude as Dandelion when he was drunk.

Sure, it would have been nice to see Dandelion, alive but trussed up in a corner. Would have given him an excuse to knife Dijkstra, but the troll was certainly more entertaining. 

**“Bart bad! Make Sigi lose chorfun.”**

“Beating your head against the wall won’t change that," grumbled Dijkstra. It seemed he'd fallen a ways from talking to the most dangerous men on the Continent. 

**“Bart hurt. Bart less thinky. Bart sadless.”**

Finally Geralt couldn't resist anymore. “Where’d you get the troll?”

“From Zerrikania," explained the man. "Won him in a card game with a camel merchant.”

“Your jokes are getting better by the minute.”

“See me smiling?" Dijkstra turned to let Geralt see his expressionless face. "I’m dead serious.”

“Don’t seem to have trouble communicating with the troll…. Why bring me down here?”

Dijkstra pointed past part, to a large hole in the wall. “Take note of that hole, we’ll come back to it later.”

Geralt was certainly interested in the hole. After all, one of the visions the oneiromancer had shown him of Dandelion had involved an explosion. 

“And see that door? Vault behind it- until recently filled with Novigrad crowns and other valuables.”

**“Bart guard!”** shouted the troll. **“Then boom! Chorfun go.”**

“Translated into common,” snarled Dijkstra. “Someone fucking made off with nearly twenty tons of my gold and all the lighter stuff. And you will help me get it back.”

He didn’t see that he had a choice. If Dandelion had been involved - and he probably had been, given the idiot’s tendency to get involved in every terrible decision possible - then he would need to lead Dijkstra away from him, find some other scapegoat. “Fine. I’ll help you.”

“You’re not exactly bursting with enthusiasm.”

“As you said,” Geralt pointed out. “I have a gigolo boyfriend to worry about.”

“Look,” said Dijkstra, “I have work to do upstairs. Come find me if you’ve got any questions.”

Geralt nodded, watching as Dijkstra headed back to the stairs. “One more thing,” Geralt called after him.

“What is it, Witcher?”

“You have contacts in the Flesh markets,” he said softly. Dijkstra opened his mouth, but the Witcher didn’t give him time to finish, saying, “If I hear Dandelion’s been through there and you haven’t notified me, I’ll do worse than break your ankle.” His eyes narrowed. “If you find him, you bring him straight to me. I’ll still help you, you know I’m good for it, so don’t think about hiding him as security for your treasure recovery.”

Dijkstra only nodded and then walked back up the stairs.

Geralt sunk to his knees. “Gods, Dandelion… what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gigolo boyfriend is straight from the game. God the gay undertones are strong with this one… And I toned them down!!!! Look up Eilhal, Dandelion’s tailor, and the scene where Geralt meets him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter describes torture.

“You learn anything?” asked Zoltan as Geralt entered the Rosemary and Thyme. It had been several days since their last meeting, and Geralt’s nerves were on edge, something not even the dwarf's cheerful face could help with. 

“Dandelion’s up to his knees in shit,” the Witcher spat, barely letting the tavern door swing shut behind him.

“That’s nothing surprising,” said the dwarf with a shrug. 

“Your Sigi Reuven is his former employer from his spying days, Sigismund Dijkstra. Right now, he’s my best bet at finding Dandelion, which is unfortunate, seeing as how our bard apparently robbed him of a considerable fortune with the help of an old friend, a doppler named Dudu. Vernon Roche is holed up outside Oxenfurt with what’s left of the Temerian army - all one hundred of them. Radovid’s hanging out in Oxenfurt, playing chess with himself - and no, that’s not a euphemism - he’s sitting at a chess table, playing it against his imagionation, because he’s apparently lost his mind!” Geralt kicked a stool that had the misfortune of being in front of him.

“Oh,” said Zoltan softly.

“That’s not the worst of it,” said Geralt.

“I was afraid of that.”

“I found Whoreson Junior.” He dropped Ciri’s phylactery that he’d gotten from Whoreson on the table. “He was supposed to fix a phylactery for Ciri and Dandelion, in exchange for Dijkstra’s treasure, but something went wrong. Whoreson kidnapped Dudu. After Ciri rescued him, she vanished and Dandelion was nabbed by the Church of the Eternal Fire.”

“Shit,” muttered Zoltan. “Where’s Whoreson now?”

“He was living in a house in Oxenfurt. Torturing women and Omegas for pleasure.” His hand curled into a fist. “There was a boy there who looked like Dandelion, when I first met him, in Dol Blathana.” Every time Geralt closed his eyes, he could still see the boy’s body, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling. He’d tried not to look at the corpse, tried not to think about it. But he hadn’t been able to look away, had found himself entranced by the boy’s injuries. His eyes sewn shut, nipples ripped off, a stake shoved up his anus.

He’d stroked the boy’s blonde hair, his hand covered away slicked with blood. If he thought hard enough, he could still smell him. Smell the fear that had lingered on him, even after death.... Geralt snapped himself back to reality, spitting out, “Whoreson won’t bother anyone ever again. I don’t believe in the afterlife, but for him, I pray there’s a hell.”

After he’d killed Whoreson, he’d taken the boy’s body and buried it outside the city.

Zoltan didn’t seem to know what to say, but Geralt did. “Where’s Priscilla? I need her help to find Dudu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intentionally skipped writing the scene at Whoreson's since it's horrific and I don't want to have to describe all of that? Google it, if you really want to. Or don't.


End file.
